Croaked
by Rowena Zahnrei
Summary: Inspired by "Pushing Daisies" but not an actual crossover, this story involves murder, a dead girl, and a guy who makes pies. While waiting to face the tribunal looking into the loss of the Enterprise-D, Data and Geordi spend a few days visiting Geordi's sister and her family. But, when death strikes her quiet town, the investigation may turn up more than even Holmes could handle.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own neither Star Trek: The Next Generation, nor Sherlock Holmes, nor the short-lived TV series Pushing Daisies. Please don't sue me or steal my strange little story. Thanks! :)

 **Croaked**

 **By Rowena Zahnrei**

Chapter One

At this very moment, on the colony world colloquially known as Cuore dei Cuori, Nedra Tompkins is eight years, four months, one week, two days, and twelve hours old.

Two hours, eighteen minutes, and fifty-nine seconds earlier, while Nedra was busy presenting an oral report on the life cycle of the Terran frog to her third grade class, a superheated piece of space debris had impacted with the Tompkins Family's garage...taking out most of the house and yard as well.

Now, young Nedra stands with her mother and father on the outskirts of the still-smoking crater that had, just that morning, been their home, her frog and its terrarium clutched tightly in her arms. Emergency Service vehicles encircle the area, officials in official uniforms scanning the wreckage with tricorders, analyzing the collected data, and comparing notes.

"Hey, it's over here!" one of the officials calls, and six other officials quickly surround him, efficiently digging a large, oblong object, like a giant black pill, from the smoldering ruins and hefting it onto an antigravity sled.

As the officials push the mysterious capsule toward the largest Emergency Service vehicle, Nedra sets her frog's transparent aluminum terrarium on the sidewalk, and strides closer to the wreckage.

"Be careful, honey," her mother calls. "The fire may be out, but the crater is still very hot!"

Nedra hears her mother's warning, but does not listen. She feels drawn to the oblong object, her curiosity growing with every step she takes.

"It looks like a torpedo," one of the officials says.

"I say it's a coffin," another weighs in.

"That's morbid," the first retorts, but a third official shakes his head.

"No, Alia's right," he says, and holds out his tricorder so they can see the readings for themselves. "Look: human remains."

"That's sick!"

"No, not really," Alia says. "Starfleet does this sort of thing sometimes, usually when a particularly honored officer dies in the line of duty. They plant the body in an empty photon torpedo shell and shoot it out into space. You know, like a contemporary homage to the way Ancient Earth sailors were sewn into their hammocks and tossed into the sea when they died aboard ship."

"So, you're saying, this family's house was totaled by a dead Starfleet officer's coffin? With the dead Starfleet officer inside?" The first official shivers and rubs his arms. "Yeesh. How messed up is that?"

"The casing is still intact," the third official says, and snaps his tricorder shut. "I say we open it. See just who might be inside..."

"Hey, you think it could be somebody famous? Like Captain Sulu or someone?"

As the officials busy themselves satisfying their own curiosity, young Nedra sidles up beside them, unheard and unseen. When the strange, oblong pill slides open, little Nedra must stand on her tiptoes to peer inside.

The face she sees there is unmarred by time and decay, the airless void of outer space having preserved the dead woman's youthful features exactly as they appeared on the day her life was taken. To eight-year-old Nedra, who has never before stood this close to the dead and doesn't quite understand, it seems the blonde woman is merely sleeping; perhaps a traveler locked in stasis. An odd, dark blotch on the woman's otherwise pale cheek catches her eye, and she reaches out to touch it...

It's Nedra's father who realizes the potential danger first. Breaking out of his stunned, post-traumatic stupor, he calls out in alarm, leaving his wife's side to dash after his daughter— But, although he immediately pulls the girl away, lifting her into his arms and carrying her back to the sidewalk, he is not in time to prevent her finger from brushing the dead woman's skin. A spark, like a small jolt of electricity, passes between them, and the dead woman sits upright with a gasp.

"What the hell happened!" she exclaims.

That question will be repeated many times, by various experts across a variety of fields, before a satisfactory answer is finally entered into the Federation's official database. That answer, however, though highly technical, having to do with dormant synaptic energy, the cryogenic effects of deep space, and the jarring, superheated jolt of hurtling through a planetary atmosphere to impact with a fairly standard, prefabricated suburban home, was, in fact, entirely false. The truth of the matter was far stranger, and far, far more implausible. For that reason, the possibility was not considered, and the truly important questions were never asked.

Which was a very lucky thing for young Nedra and her family, who had carefully and, often, rather craftily kept the secret of their life-giving powers for uncounted generations.

Not every family member possessed the ability to 'wake' the dead with a touch but, for those who did, one important caveat always applied. That caveat was: a death for a death. Once someone dead had been revived, there was a grace period of only one minute before the scales of life and death balanced out and someone living bit the dust in the formerly dead person's place.

To prevent this contingency, the revived person had to be touched a second time before that one minute was up. One touch alive, two touches, dead. And once twice touched, one could never be revived again. That dead person was dead for good. Why this was, no one really knew, but the caveat had been tested too many times over too many years with far too many unfortunate results to leave much doubt as to its veracity.

Young Nedra had lived a protected, sheltered life up to then and, as yet, had not been told about her family's peculiar gift…or, perhaps, their curse. As for Nedra's father, he did not realize his daughter had actually touched the dead woman's skin until fifty-two seconds had passed…and, by then, it was too late to turn back. Eight seconds later, the third official dropped dead of an aneurysm his colleagues, and coroner, would presume had burst as a result of the shock of watching a reanimated Starfleet officer climb out of her torpedo-shell coffin and demand to know the whereabouts of Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the starship _Enterprise_.

With the Starfleet officer up on her feet, walking and talking, and the Emergency Services official lying prone on the ground, Nedra's father was terribly aware that his brief window to re-dead the once-dead woman without inciting question, alarm, or panic had closed, and closed tightly. And so, the Starfleet officer remained alive.

Three weeks, five days, and two hours later, the debris from the crash had been cleared, the crater filled in, and the Tompkins' prefab home rebuilt, as good as new. Following a startling, and mildly traumatizing, bedtime story told by her father, Nedra took to wearing gloves to school…until she came to realize just how uncommon an occurrence death really was on a peaceful Federation colony world. Before long, she'd all but forgotten her inherited gift…and the woman she'd unintentionally revived.

As for the reanimated Starfleet officer, she knew to keep her mouth shut too. The prospect of being served up to Starfleet Medical as a particularly freakish freak of nature held no appeal for her so, instead of revealing her true identity, she offered her 'rescuers' a false name and a made-up backstory that sounded far more plausible than her real one. Once the colony hospital cleared her to go, she hopped the first transport to planet Earth.

It was seven years, seven months, three weeks, and four days since her sudden death on Vagra II, and Lt. Natasha Yar felt herself at loose ends. She wanted desperately to reconnect with the friends she'd made in her brief time aboard the _Enterprise-D_ …the crewmates who had, somehow, managed to become more a family to her than simply fellow officers.

Yet, upon arriving in San Francisco, Tasha learned, to her great dismay, that the _Enterprise-D_ had recently crashed on a distant world called Veridian III. Starfleet regulations stated that whenever a ship was lost, a court martial was mandatory – particularly when that ship was the Federation's much-lauded, even legendary, flagship – and the captain and his senior staff were due to face a tribunal at Starfleet Headquarters in five days' time…

 _To Be Continued..._

 _References include TNG: Skin of Evil the movie Generations and the TV series Pushing Daisies and Dead Like Me._

 _I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Until next time! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! Happy Fourth of July! Sorry for taking so long, but I hope you like this next chapter. :)

Chapter Two

It is 0953 hours Pacific Time as a solemn-faced group gathers in the main reception hall of Starfleet's main JAG office, in San Francisco. Just eight minutes earlier, an even more solemn judge had proclaimed the tribunal adjudicating the _Enterprise_ court-martial would commence in just five days.

Before the gloomy group can leave and scatter, the defense council team warns the lost ship's senior staff that there will be no leeway given, no allowances made for these seven heroic officers who, in their eight years together, have protected Earth and the Federation from threats ranging in scale and scope from microscopic nanites, to Borg invasions, to the self-serving games of self-titled omnipotent beings. If anything, they say, those past triumphs will only put the command choices leading to the loss of the _Enterprise-D_ under harsher and less forgiving scrutiny.

"You were in command at the time," the lead defense advocate, Captain Jimmy Bryce, told Commander Riker, "so the prosecution will focus a lot of their attention on your decisions and frame of mind. But, Captain Picard's decision to leave the _Enterprise_ with a known hostile so near will also be closely examined. The _Enterprise-D_ was a family ship, and home to many young children...something the media, and many admirals, consider controversial in itself. If the situation was dire enough to threaten the ship, the prosecution will have to wonder why you didn't separate the saucer section _before_ engaging in a firefight."

The android officer, Lt. Commander Data, raised a white-gold finger. His analytical mind recognized this was not the right time to voice his personal opinions, but he was new to visceral emotions, and unable to quite contain the surge of defensive aggression that prompted him to open his mouth.

"Captain Bryce," he said irritably, "I feel I must point out that—"

"You know something, Commander? I don't care what you 'feel'," the lawyer snapped, his tone so harsh it took the _Enterprise_ officers aback. "Your conduct during this mission was hardly above reproach. If anything, your decision to implant a piece of untested, scavenged technology in your already mysterious positronic brain – namely, one reconstructed 'emotion chip' that, as I understand it, has never been inspected or vetted by either Starfleet or the Daystrom Institute – paints both you, and Chief Engineer La Forge, here, as reckless – even negligent."

"Sir," La Forge protested, "you're not being—"

"Don't interrupt," Bryce barked, and they could all see his anger was real. "I'm not interested in justifications or excuses. My only concern here is how to most effectively anticipate and counteract the spin the prosecution will put on this fiasco. And trust me, they will spin it, and spin it hard. Not one of you performed up to your usual standard on this mission. I don't know if that's down to complacency or arrogance or just downright laziness, but I'll tell you this: we're looking at a weak case here. A very weak case. Now, you've all done a lot for us in the past, and I'll do my best for you, but I can't promise you won't each be facing some sort of disciplinary action at the end of all this. I just want you to understand, and to be prepared. And one more thing—"

He fixed each of them in his glare.

"Defensiveness and self-righteous petulance will not work here. You are here because you deserve to be here. Who you are does not matter. Nor do your past records. Only what you did or did not do in that specific time of crisis when the _Enterprise-D_ was lost. Mistakes were made – that much is indisputable. As a result, lives were lost. Starfleet property was destroyed. You must acknowledge this – own this – before the prosecution can turn it against you. Only then can we move forward and deliver the story of what happened on our own terms. When you are called to the stand, I expect only specific, targeted answers delivered in a calm, direct tone. We will practice this. I will be calling each of you to my office in turn over the next few days, and we will work together one-on-one. Stay close until you are called. Do not leave the city. You are now dismissed."

Throughout the lawyer's speech, the _Enterprise_ officers kept their gazes steady and their expressions tightly closed. Once he left, their eyes turned to Captain Picard, whose own expression was shadowed by the memories of another court-martial…another lost ship. His first command. The _Stargazer_...

"Captain Bryce is right," Picard said, his cultured voice low and serious. "The only way through a court-martial is to take responsibility, then look forward. The idea is to showcase our ability to _learn_ from the past, to grow as leaders, and not get stuck in a destructive loop of guilt and blame."

His eyes met Dr. Crusher's almost against his will; an unspoken pain passed between them. An ancient, awkward guilt that boils down to a name.

 _Jack._

"Now, I want all of you to take the next few days for yourselves," he continued without pause. "Enjoy the city, try the restaurants, take in a show. Get some sleep. My communicator's channel will be open, should you wish to contact me."

The officers acknowledged their captain and began to trickle out the door and into the sunlit square beyond. Data and Geordi, Worf, Troi, and Riker… Soon, only Picard and Dr. Crusher remained.

"I'd tell you to take your own advice," she teased, though her eyes were still dim, "if I thought it would do any good."

Picard glanced at the decorative wall clock.

"I believe Dottie's Café is still serving breakfast," he said, and proffered his arm. "If you're willing to join me."

He looked at her, and she looked back, her expression softening as she took his arm in hers and they walked together through the sliding doors.

* * *

"Geordi," Data said as the two friends made their way through the crowded streets toward the nearest stop for the heritage street car – a very modern shuttlebus designed to look like the ancient street cars that used to run on rails through the old city. "I believe I am experiencing anxiety. The sensation is very strong…it is really quite awful. I do not like it."

"Don't let that lawyer get to you, Data," Geordi said. "It's his job to rattle us – to catch us off guard, find what puts us on the defensive, and force us all to re-examine our actions, and our feelings. That way, we'll be more prepared when the prosecutors start pelting us with questions."

"Oh…" the android groaned, and buried his pale face in his hands. "I know. I understand. But, I have never experienced anything like this before. Faced with circumstances like these, is it normal for a span of merely five days to seem like an eternity?"

Geordi smiled, and clapped his taller friend on the shoulder.

"You'll be all right," he assured him. "Sure, you had a few rough moments while you adjusted to the new input flooding in from your emotion chip. But, when things really hit the fan, you managed to keep your head – and our descent onto that planet – level and steady. If it hadn't been for you and your quick action, that crash would have been a lot worse. A lot worse."

"You are kind to say so," Data said, "but I cannot overlook the fact that my cowardice on the Armargosa station led to your kidnapping and subsequent torture—"

"Data, I told you, I don't blame you for that," Geordi said. "If I did, would I have asked you to come with me to my sister's place?"

"I suppose not," Data acknowledged, and offered his friend a little smile. "Ariana and her family live in Walnut Creek, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right," Geordi said, and straightened his VISOR on his nose. "It's across the bay, but Walnut Creek is part of Greater San Francisco, so we won't _technically_ be leaving the city. We could transport there, but it's only a fifteen-minute ride, and I thought you'd like to see some of the landscape."

"You are correct," Data admitted. "And, it will be nice to have a chance to…calm down. Collect my thoughts. Before I meet your sister."

"That's a good point too. Oh – and here comes the street car! Get your 'FleetPass ready, Data."

As the android turned to watch the street car's approach, 'FleetPass already in his hand, his optic sensors caught sight of something else, something entirely unexpected, just at the periphery of his visual field.

A young woman with short-cropped blonde hair was striding quickly behind the gathering crowd, dodging her way past and through the throng of commuters and tourists on her way toward the JAG offices. He found her movements strikingly familiar; aggressive, yet graceful. Data could only see her from the back, and the crowd between them highly obstructed his view, but he could tell she had the stride of a dancer…or, a highly trained fighter…

Data's emotions gave an intense, startled leap, but his rational, analytical core rejected the notion they proposed almost before it formed. Tasha Yar is dead, it told him. She has been dead for seven years, seven months, three weeks, and six days.

But, Data's memory records did not lie. And, that woman's specifications were a near-exact match for Tasha's…on the day she died…

"Impossible," the android muttered. "Seven years, and she has not aged…? Unless she is a representative of an alternate universe - an admittedly unlikely scenario - she simply cannot be who she appears to be..."

"Hmm? You say something, Data?" Geordi asked, more concerned with securing them a good place in the forming line than his friend's sotto voce musings.

Data realized he faced a choice. He could do the rational thing and attempt to shrug off the disconcerting mystery as merely a peculiar quirk of human genetics, like the ancient theory of the doppelgänger. Or, he could follow his gut...see for himself whether his senses were playing tricks.

"Geordi," he said, "please board the street car without me. I will return momentarily."

"Data? What do you—" Geordi started, but Data's android speed already had him nearing the end of the block, where the JAG complex stood in full view.

The mystery woman, however, was nowhere to be seen.

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

 _References include - Star Trek: Generations; First Contact (movie); Evolution; Encounter At Farpoint; All Good Things…; Best of Both Worlds; Violations; The Measure of a Man; Descent._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Lt. Commander Geordi La Forge was concerned about his friend, Data. Since boarding the shuttlebus six and a half minutes earlier, the anxious android had seemed strangely distracted. One might even say: preoccupied.

Geordi had tried to engage his attention with a description of his sister's home, her husband Wendie (short for Wendell), and their twin boys, Edward and Silvester, but Data had just sat there, staring out the window and drumming his fingers against the metal armrest so fast Geordi was surprised they didn't make sparks.

"Data, are you even listening to me?"

"I have heard every word you said, Geordi," Data told him, still drumming. "In fact, I could repeat back every word spoken on this trolley since we took off, if you like."

Geordi rolled his eyes behind his VISOR.

"Then will you stop that damned drumming and look at me? What's wrong with you, anyway? You can't tell me this…behavior…of yours is all down to that tribunal."

"It is not," Data said.

"Then, what is it?" Geordi demanded. "Honestly, Data, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're acting like you spotted a ghost back there!"

Data clenched his tapping fingers and faced his friend at last, his golden eyes very wide.

"You saw her too?"

"What? Saw who?"

At his friend's look of utter incomprehension, Data's expression fell. Hard.

Geordi frowned.

"Come on, Data, you're worrying me now. What the hell is going on?"

"Geordi," the android said, and swallowed nervously. "Would you think me…unstable…if I were to tell you that I think…perhaps…I did?"

Geordi furrowed his brow.

"Did what?" he asked.

"See a ghost!" Data said, and sank lower in his chair, his yellow eyes darting around as if afraid of being overheard.

"Impossible," Geordi told him.

Data tilted his head.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because there's no such thing!"

"You do not believe in ghosts?"

"You're telling me you do?"

"Not as such," Data admitted. "But, need I remind you, Geordi, of our…rather electrifying…encounter with the anaphasic life form, Ronin, who inhabited an heirloom candle and haunted Dr. Crusher's family for generations?"

"OK, OK, but that thing wasn't a ghost."

"Perhaps not in the strictest sense but, for all intents and purposes, it can be said that we, and Dr. Crusher, did experience a 'haunting,' of sorts."

"And now you think you may have experienced something similar?"

"No. Not exactly."

"Then, what's going on with you, Data?" Geordi said. "What happened back at that shuttlestop that's got you so rattled?"

Data lowered his eyes and twiddled his thumbs in his lap.

"I believe I saw Lieutenant Yar," he confessed in a mumble so low Geordi had to strain to hear him over the shuttlebus's engines, and the chatter from the other passengers.

"You saw what?"

"Lieutenant Yar!" Data pronounced; slowly, and with more urgency. "Or, at least, someone who resembled her with discomfiting exactitude. She walked past the crowd toward the JAG offices. I followed, but was unable to see which building she entered."

"You sound pretty sure that it was her."

"Geordi…" The android sighed. "If this had occurred before I installed my emotion chip, I would have had little cause to doubt what I thought I saw. Now…" He looked anxiously at his friend. "I saw her for only a fleeting moment, from behind. The record in my memory banks is exact, but… Do you think it possible that wishful thinking could be clouding my observations?"

"'Wishful thinking'?" Geordi prompted.

Data's expression grew distant, and he turned his eyes back to the rapidly passing land-and-waterscape outside the window.

Geordi waited for him to answer, then waited a beat longer. After another beat, the engineer sighed through his nose.

"Data," he said gently. "I think I know how you're feeling. We all mourned Tasha when she died, but you… It's got to be different, now that you're…"

"More 'in touch' with my emotions?" Data said, offering his friend a little smirk.

Geordi nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "But, Tasha Yar is gone. She's been gone for…oh, almost eight years now. She wasn't phased or displaced or kidnapped or pulled into a warp bubble. She died. Killed by that Armus creature. And, as I've had to learn – the hard way, I might add – dead people just don't come back to life."

"I am aware of that, Geordi," Data said, and lowered his eyes. "Perhaps all this… Losing the _Enterprise_...returning to Earth…" He pursed his lips, and released a sigh. "I must admit, our current situation has prompted me to dwell on other significant losses in my life. It is possible that all this dwelling has caused me to somehow…conflate…one woman's passing…with the passing of another…"

He blinked, and raised his head.

"My apologies, Geordi," he said. "I did not mean to dim the anticipation of meeting your sister and her family with such grim musings."

"Hey, don't worry about it, Data," Geordi said, and smiled. "Look, Ariana's not expecting us until this afternoon. How about we take some time to explore the neighborhood before we head over to the house? Get our bearings. If I remember right, there's this little corner bakery not far from the shuttlestation. They make the most amazing apple pies there. Gruyere and cheddar cheese baked right into the crust!"

Data scrunched up his face in something like horror.

"Cheese? In apple pie?"

Geordi laughed.

"I know, I never thought it would work either," he said. "But, you'll change your tune once you taste this stuff. Trust me, you're gonna love it."

As the two friends turned their minds from thoughts of loss, both past and present, to thoughts of tender, flaky pie crusts enrobing tart, juicy fruit fillings, a shadowed figure at the back of the shuttlebus had her thoughts focused entirely on them.

Tasha Yar had not seen Data follow her through the crowd from the shuttlestop, but she thought she had heard a spine-chillingly familiar male voice shout out her name shortly after she had passed through the doors of the main JAG office. She had tried to pass it off as a trick of the senses but, after making a quick inquiry at the main JAG office's main reception desk regarding the scheduled time and date of the _Enterprise_ court martial, Tasha had dashed back to the – now largely diminished – crowd…

—Just in time to see the back of Data's impeccably groomed head disappear into the depths of the nearly full shuttlebus.

Faced with such a moment, a more cautious or rational personality may have stopped to consider the consequences of being recognized. After all, being a miracle of medical science might sound pretty marvelous…until the authorities took note of that miracle and marked you down as a featured specimen. But, as Tasha had always possessed a rather hotheaded temperament, the former security chief did not stop to think. At the sight of her android crewmate's unmistakable white-gold neck and slicked-back hair, Tasha's anxious heart gave a hopeful leap that sent her legs sprinting up the shuttlebus steps and her shoulders huddling into the densely packed pack of passengers just moments before the bus doors closed and the driver lifted off.

Now, the once-dead, mysteriously alive-again woman fixed her eyes on the engineer and the android who had once been two of the closest friends she'd ever had and realized...she barely recognized them. It wasn't just that they both looked older, or that the uniforms they wore were quite different from the style of uniform they had all worn some eight years ago. Something had changed in their expressions, their bearing...

A change that seemed to apply to Data, in particular.

"He laughed...!" she whispered to herself, not quite sure how to feel about what she was seeing. "A real laugh! I always told him he'd get the hang of humor once he stopped trying so hard, but..."

"What's that?" the man crushed against her side asked. "You say something, lady?"

"I said, how long to the next stop?" she covered.

The man strained against the pressing crowd to check his timekeeper.

"We should be landing in Walnut Creek in just under two min—"

"Next stop, Walnut Creek," the shuttlebus's computer drowned him out. "Please stand away from the doors until the trolley comes to a complete stop."

Geordi and Data stood and edged their way into the crammed center aisle as the shuttlebus made its smooth descent. Tasha started edging forward herself, offering the man beside her a quick smile as she said, "Looks like this is where I get off. Thanks."

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

 _References Include - TNG: Sub Rosa; Skin of Evil; Interface; The Next Phase; Remember Me; Parallels; Gambit; and the movie Generations.  
_

 _Until next time! Reviews are always welcome! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The Stardate is 41209.2, and much of the new crew of the recently launched _USS Enterprise-D_ have fallen under the influence of a peculiarly complex water molecule that, when combined with carbon from the body, affects brain function in a manner similar to alcohol intoxication.

This highly contagious polywater intoxicant was contracted during an investigation into the sudden, startling deaths of the crew of the _SS_ _Tsiolkovsky_ – a science vessel assigned to observe the collapse of a red supergiant star – and carried aboard the _Enterprise_ by then junior-grade Lieutenant Geordi La Forge, sometimes jokingly referred to as the ship's 'blind navigator.'

Well, Lt. La Forge had had enough of that kind of teasing.

Geordi La Forge had been blind from birth, and he was tired of being defined by his 'disability.' Growing up, he and his sister Ariana had lived a childhood divided between their loving, but career-driven, parents: sometimes aboard starships with their mother, Silvia, a command-track officer with dreams of captaining her own ship; other times on planetary bases with their father, Edward, a dedicated exozoologist and science officer with a particular fascination for Modean invertebrates. The doctors and teachers that had populated young Geordi's childhood had rarely seen him as more than a miraculous VISOR attached to a little blind boy, and the nature of their parents' Starfleet service meant young Geordi and Ariana never stayed anywhere long enough to form close friendships with anyone, except each other.

The _Enterprise_ was supposed to be different. A long-term mission to chart the furthest frontiers of explored space, and reach out to the unexplored…

And Geordi was to sit at the helm.

The junior grade lieutenant had truly felt his assignment as a bridge officer aboard this new, state-of-the-art Galaxy-class ship would be his chance to forge a fresh image, a new start; to finally step out in front of the VISOR, as it were.

Until he found himself forced to endure joke after tired joke about the ship that was flown by a blind man.

Geordi knew the jokes were not meant to be malicious. Many were even delivered with a fond sort of pride. But, it is an unfortunate aspect of human nature that the teased unavoidably berate themselves for being the object of the tease, blaming their differences for their pain…even when the joshing is not intended to sting.

That is why, although Geordi had always been proud of who he was, and quite pleased that his VISOR allowed him to 'see' the entire spectrum, rather than the few, limited wavelengths of 'visible' light perceivable by the unaided human eye, his contraction of the _Tsiolkovsky's_ polywater intoxicant, in loosening his inhibitions, inadvertently unearthed a seething frustration the young lieutenant had long fought to keep buried.

A frustration that manifested in a deep yearning to be 'normal' – which, to him, chiefly meant knowing at last what it looked like to _see_ in the same way that others saw.

It was Tasha Yar who found him, alone in the Observation Room, staring out at the brilliant electromagnetic dance he, alone, could see when he looked at the stars.

In his intoxicated state, Geordi had reached out to her, brushed her face with his fingertips…

And, she hadn't pulled away.

Instead, Tasha Yar had listened. She had attended to his secret desperation without any of the awkward pity he had long ago learned to dread, and met his searching grasp with kindness, and a compassion that had warmed his heart in a new, and startling way.

From that moment on, Geordi La Forge carried a new secret. For, in his mind and in his heart, that brief, but honest connection they shared had forever equated the feel of Tasha's face beneath his fingertips with 'beauty,' and the warmth of her hand in his with 'friendship.'

After the contagion had been cured and the ship's crew returned to their usual state of professional decorum, Geordi had privately resolved to try to grow that wonderful sense of trust and friendship into something more…something even warmer…

But, that was a resolve the shy young officer never managed to speak aloud to Tasha, or to anyone else, even after Tasha's untimely death dropped an icy lid on his dreams.

What Geordi did not know was that Tasha's sudden death had also dropped a similar lid on the uncertain hopes of another…

The man who was, in fact, Geordi's closest friend.

When Geordi had touched Tasha's face and hands, he had unwittingly passed the polywater intoxicant on to her. And, in her inebriated state, the normally straight-laced security chief had felt her sharply honed self-control crack and split.

Released from the shackles of practiced discipline, the many conflicted, and conflicting, passions Tasha Yar had long fought to lock away burst straight through to the surface, bathing her in a flood of daring impulses. Afraid to dive in to the roiling swells, but reveling in the thrill of the storm, the severely intoxicated young woman had fixed her sights on the one being aboard ship she figured could never really hurt her and who, by the same reasoning, she could never truly hurt in return.

Lt. Commander Data was an android. A machine with a positronic computer for a brain who found most human behaviors and colloquial speech patterns as intriguing and disconcerting as most humans found him.

Like Geordi, Data had lived a lonely life largely defined by the parameters of what made him 'different' from those around him. In consequence, the socially isolated android had developed a secret yearning to be 'normal' – which, to him, chiefly meant knowing what it _felt_ like to experience powerful emotions and tactile sensations in the same way the humans around him did.

Emotions like 'community' and 'belonging,' 'friendship' and, perhaps, one day, even 'love.'

Data had kept this yearning locked tightly inside his positronic brain for most of his (some continued to debate the term) 'life,' until his assignment as Second Officer and Chief of Operations aboard the new _Enterprise-D_ had afforded him what he hoped might be an opportunity to forge a fresh image, a new start; a chance for Data the _person_ to finally step out in front of Data the _android_ , as it were.

Of course, the inebriated Tasha Yar was not considering any of this when she approached the android who had come, on captain's orders, to escort her from her quarters to sickbay. She did not stop to wonder if Data might be vulnerable to the polywater intoxicant raging through her bloodstream, seeping through her sweat, or whether, when she touched his hands and told him of her past, the cybernetic being before her might honestly believe that this aesthetically striking human woman was reaching out - not to Data the machine - but, to Data the _person_ _._ Perhaps, even, Data the _man._

And, when she led him into her bedroom, any suspicion that the already intoxicated android might interpret Tasha's…unsubtle…invitation as an unprecedented opportunity to further his deep-seated wish to _feel_ what it was to be human, was practically the last thing on her mind.

It is eight years, one month, and six days since a rather embarrassed Tasha Yar bluntly informed a quite befuddled Data that whatever the pair of them may have done or said while under the influence of the polywater intoxicant 'never happened,' and Data and Geordi have just entered a quirky little establishment situated nearly halfway between the Walnut Creek Shuttlestation, and the home of Geordi's sister and her family. The tempting smell of fresh baked pies draws the two friends to take a seat at the rounded counter, where a cheery blonde waitress in a bright green uniform hands them each a menu.

"Welcome to The Pie Hole!" she says, her bright smile catching and holding their attention just as a third customer - a young woman who, only days before, had been floating lifelessly in a torpedo casing - enters swiftly and ducks into a corner booth. "Trust me, boys, you won't be sorry you came!"

 _To Be Continued..._

* * *

 _References Include - TNG: The Naked Now; Skin of Evil; The Next Phase; Interface; Hero Worship; Hide and Q; Encounter at Farpoint and the Pushing Daisies series.  
_

 _Please review! I'd really love to know what you think of these new chapters! :)_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Data?" Geordi prompted, setting his fork down beside his plate of half-eaten Georgia peach pie with cinnamon ice cream. "Data, I've been talking for the past ten minutes. Aren't you going to say anything?"

"You are exaggerating, Geordi," the android told him. "You have been talking for only two minutes, twenty-eight seconds."

"And now you're deflecting," Geordi said. "Will you get over this already? Whoever you saw back at that shuttle stop cannot have been Tasha Yar, and you know it."

"I admitted that, Geordi," Data said, and rested his chin on his palm. "I have merely been contemplating the fickle finger of fate."

Geordi raised his eyebrows, his expression a playful parody of Data's 'intrigued' look.

"Ah – an alliterative popular colloquialism," he said. "Please, explain its significance in this context."

"You are teasing me," Data said.

"I'm trying to cheer you up," Geordi told him. "Look, I know our situation sucks right now. We're all mourning the _Enterprise_."

"Hmm," Data grunted, and Geordi shook his head in frustration.

"Come on, Data – I was her Chief Engineer," he said. "That ship meant _everything_ to me. But, we are where we are and there's no going back. So, how about you stop brooding and try some of that pie there before it grows a second crust."

Data's lips twitched upwards at that, and he chuckled despite himself.

"Fair enough, my friend," he said, and dug his fork into the flaky, cheddar-baked apple pie on his plate.

"Well?" Geordi asked curiously, as he watched Data take a bite. "What do you think?"

Data chewed the pie slowly, making a broad show of analyzing its ingredients, flavors, and textures. Finally, he swallowed, smacked his lips, and took a long, contemplative sip of coffee.

Recognizing Data was deliberately playing with his patience, Geordi shoved his shoulder, and the android broke out laughing into his cup.

"It is…interesting," Data allowed. "The savory cheese does compliment the tartness of the apples."

"But, do you like it?"

Data took another, larger, bite, and tilted his head.

"I can appreciate the combination," he said. "Apples are, after all, commonly used in savory dishes – baked with pork and cranberries, for example, or served as a condiment with turkey. I am certain the addition of such ingredients would enhance this pie. As a dessert, however, I—"

"We don't serve meat pies here, sailor," the waitress said cheerily, coming up beside them with a coffee pot in her hand. "Not part of the boss's vision." She smiled and held up the steaming pot. "More coffee?"

"Thanks," Geordi said, and slid his cup closer.

"I think I would actually prefer tea this time," Data said. "Black, with milk."

"No problem, cutie," she said, and smiled her broad, gleaming smile on her way to the other side of the counter.

Geordi felt his ears start to burn, and turned his focus toward the countertop, her low cut uniform making it a challenge for the slightly bashful officer to keep his VISORed gaze from dipping below her neckline.

To Geordi's surprise, though, Data straightened and leaned his elbow against the counter so he could face her more directly, returning her bright smile in kind while she pulled a small, silver jug of real cow's milk from the refrigerator, dug a tea bag from her apron pocket, and filled a little ceramic teapot with hot water from the elaborate coffee machine.

She set these accoutrements out before him, then walked back around the counter.

"You know, hun, if you're not happy with the Cheddar-Baked Apple, I could swap it with something else," she offered and winked, her expression warming slightly as she looked into his golden eyes.

"I assure you, I am not dissatisfied," Data told her, still smiling. "But, your offer is much appreciated. I believe I will take you up on the swap."

"What would you like to try?" she challenged, maintaining eye contact.

"What would you recommend?" he countered, his gaze just as steady.

"Well," the waitress said, stepping in even closer. "I'll tell you what I like to do. I like to play this little game. Every day, I pick out one flavor – one flavor that strikes me as particularly…appetizing." Her smile deepened. "And, you know what?"

"What?" Data asked.

"By the end of the day, I've sold more slices of that flavor pie than any other in the shop."

"That is quite a talent," Data observed. "May I ask what flavor struck you today?"

"Triple Berry Supreme," the waitress said, mock conspiratorially. "It's loaded with big, juicy strawberries, sweet blueberries, and tart blackberries, and topped with a crispy brown sugar crust."

"Uncanny," Data said. "That is precisely what I have been craving."

The waitress beamed, and held out her hand.

"Dilly Gherkin," she said.

"Lt. Commander Data," Data returned, accepting her proffered hand. "And this is Lt. Commander Geordi La Forge," he introduced. "My best friend."

"Will you two 'Fleet boys be in town for a while?" Dilly asked.

"We'll be here for the next few days," Geordi said.

"I do so love good news," Dilly said cheerily, and placed a hand on Data's shoulder. "I'll go get you that pie."

As the smiling waitress took her coffee pot and Data's plate and headed into the kitchen, Geordi let out a long, slow breath.

"Wow," he said. "Just…wow…"

"I am in complete accord with that assessment," Data said, still smiling as he poured his tea.

"Data," Geordi said, utterly incredulous. "I don't believe it. I mean, I saw it, but I still don't believe it."

"What do you not believe?"

"You were flirting!" Geordi exclaimed. "Right there, in front of everyone, as if it was second nature! How did you—! I mean, I've never seen you do that before. Well, not like that."

The smile drained from Data's features, leaving his pale face blank and a little cold.

"You are aware that I am programed with a vast repository of information regarding flirtation and romantic interaction," Data said, rather flatly. "When Dilly opened discourse in that vein, I saw no harm in responding in kind."

Geordi regarded him closely, one eyebrow quirked over his VISOR.

"Were you interacting just to interact, then? Like, the way you used to practice small talk? Or, do you honestly think that woman is attractive?"

Data's lips tightened, and he set his cup back in its saucer.

"You think, because I am an android, I am incapable of appreciating feminine beauty? Or, is it that you do not believe me emotionally equipped to handle the attentions of a flirtatious young woman?"

"No," Geordi said quickly. "I'm just— Well, I guess I'm…"

"Incredulous? Or, would 'jealous' be a more accurate assessment?"

"What if I am?" Geordi said defensively. "That emotion chip of yours is new to me too, pal. But, if you're going to start flirting with pretty waitresses, I'd appreciate it if you did me one courtesy."

"What courtesy?" Data asked.

"Find out if she's got any friends who go for the dark, handsome type," Geordi said and smiled, brushing a hand over his short hair.

Data blinked, confused. Then, a light seemed to dawn, and he laughed.

"Understood," he said, and glanced up as Dilly slid him his fresh slice of pie.

"Here's your pie, Golden-Eye," she rhymed with a cheeky little smile.

"This looks wonderful," he said cheerfully. "Thank you, Dilly."

"Our very best Triple Berry Supreme," she said, releasing a scoop of vanilla ice cream over the crispy crust. "With an extra scoop of sweetness, on the house."

She winked coquettishly and flitted over to check coffee and water levels at the other tables in the busy little eatery.

"An extra scoop of sweetness, eh?" Geordi said.

"I think she likes me," Data said teasingly, his smile practically glowing as he closed his eyes to savor his first luscious bite of cold ice cream; sweet, buttery crust; and warm, tart berries. "Mmmmm," he hummed in delight. "Unlike so many other things my emotion chip has changed, finally possessing the ability to _taste_ my dessert really is all it is cracked up to be. Thank you, Geordi, for bringing me here."

"Any time, pal," Geordi said, and raised his coffee cup. "Cheers."

* * *

Tasha Yar closely observed the two officers from her booth in the far corner, wrapped in a burning incredulity of her own…and a host of even more confusing feelings. She had hoped the shuttle trip would have given her enough time to figure out how to approach her former friends, but after everything she had seen…everything she had overheard between Data and that waitress...

They both just seemed so different. Data especially. To see him like that, joking with Geordi, savoring his slice of ice cream-topped pie, flirting so adeptly with that woman... How could she possibly—

The bells over the door jangled, and a tall, slender man strode into the shop and started scanning his eyes over the customers.

The same man who had spoken to her on the shuttlebus.

Tasha ducked her head quickly, but not fast enough. The man's expression brightened, and he headed straight for her.

"No, no, no..."

"Hello there!" he greeted, and waved. "Please, forgive me if I'm being forward. But, after we got off the shuttle, I saw you come in here and…well, I'd been planning to stop in myself, so I thought…well, maybe…"

He smiled awkwardly, and Tasha tried not to grimace, her wary eyes fixed on the two officers at the counter.

"I see you're sitting alone," the man prompted. "And, this place is pretty full today. Would you mind very much if, perhaps, I were to ask if—"

"Either sit down or go away," she hissed.

"Oh, well, thanks," the man said, and scooted in on the opposite side of her table, folding his hands in front of him. "Do you come here often?"

"This is my first time," Tasha said irritably.

"Well, that's wonderful!" the man said. "I'm a local here myself, but my job took me out of town. I can tell you, though, whenever I thought of home, my mind always took me straight to this place. This is my first time back in about three years."

"How interesting…"

"You really think so?" the man said eagerly. "Most people find the intricacies of accounting a little boring - did I mention I was a finance lawyer?"

"No, you didn't..."

"Yeah, well, most people find it boring but, if you ask me, you can tell a lot about a business from their finances," he said. "Even in this day and age, when we work more for personal fulfillment than financial gain, a credit's still a credit don't you know. And racing, as a sport and as entertainment, has always struck me as a particularly deep and sordid business…if you like that sort of thing. That mark—?"

He gestured toward her face with his finger, and Tasha flinched away.

"What are you doing?"

"I was just wondering about that black mark on your face," he said. "It's very distinctive – not to say it detracts from your looks or anything, because I can tell you, it does not. But, were you born with it, or is it some kind of tattoo…?"

Tasha pressed a hand to her cheek, and scowled down at the table, fighting to come up with a way to make this person leave without attracting attention.

"It's a part of me, OK? I can't get rid of it," she said bitterly…then looked up, an idea starting to percolate that could deal with both the annoying man, and the irritatingly distinctive stain her deadly encounter with Armus had left on her skin.

Getting up from the booth, she indicated the restroom past the counter and said, "Will you excuse me?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course," the man said, and Tasha hurried across the tiled aisle, making sure to keep her back to Geordi and Data. A brief, surreptitious stop at the replicator set her up with the latest in concealing makeup, and she slipped quickly into the ladies room to apply it.

She had nearly finished her touch up - with pretty impressive results, she thought - when a terrible scream made her drop the little makeup tube in the sink. Quickly, she tossed the tube, washed her hands, and dashed back into the restaurant.

—Or, rather, a war zone...

The cozy little eatery was a shambles, its cute, cherry-shaped ceiling lamps all askew. Tasha had to push past a crowd of rubbernecking customers before she could catch a glimpse of the source of the chaos, but the sound of smashing ceramic and glass was easy enough to follow.

The young waitress who had, just minutes ago, been smiling and flirting with two of Tasha's closest friends now stood livid, her face flushed and distorted with rage as she snatched dirty plates and cups from neighboring booths and hurled them at the man who had followed Tasha in from the shuttlebus.

Tasha scowled, realizing Data and Geordi must have left while she was in the bathroom. Otherwise, she had no doubt Data's android swiftness and strength would have put an end to this mayhem as soon as it began. She knew she had to find them, to follow them, but her training as a Starfleet Security Chief wouldn't let her leave until this violent scene had been effectively controlled.

"What's going on here?" she demanded, her voice filled with such authority the older lady beside her answered without question.

"From what I gather, Dilly and this man used to date," she said. "I don't think their break up was exactly amicable."

"Really?" Tasha said dryly, fighting her instincts to interfere. "Why doesn't someone break this up?"

"Hey, stop!"

A flour-dusted young man with short, dark hair skidded out of the kitchen brandishing a hand-held air horn. A few deafening blasts provided enough distraction for the object of the waitress's assault to push his way through the crowd and out the door, his clothing dripping with coffee and colorful pie goo, and slippery ice cubes sliding from his collar as he ran.

The young waitress seemed to freeze, then she turned to the flour-dusted pie maker and began to sob helplessly into his shoulder, apologizing over and over and over again for her terrible outburst.

"All right, everyone, show's over," the pie maker said, putting a comforting arm around the sobbing young woman. "We're closing early today."

Tasha wanted to stay, to get to the bottom of this shockingly violent outburst, but this wasn't her town. Getting involved would only lead to questions about her, her identity, and until she confronted her former friends, gained their support, such questions were something a once-dead woman simply could not risk.

Following the last of the customers out the door, she cast one last look over her shoulder at the distraught girl, then headed back to the shuttlebus station, and its public computer terminals. She'd overheard Geordi tell Data they were heading for his sister's house. She'd missed her chance to follow them there, but she could still look up the address. She figured she'd give them a few hours, some time to settle in... Then, she'd march straight up to the front door and ring the bell.

She wondered which of them would recognize her first.

She wondered if Geordi would hug her. If Data still...

She sighed, her fists clenching by her sides as she walked.

Data still thought that volatile waitress found him attractive.

"Well," she muttered to herself, rather surprised by her own bitter feelings, "better to find out that girl's got a temper now rather than later. I might even warn him...when I find him..."

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

 _References Include - TNG: Skin of Evil; Legacy; In Theory; Hero Worship; Booby Trap; Starship Mine; and Pushing Daisies First Season and Pie-lette._

Next Time: Geordi and Data meet up with Geordi's family and…a murder! Stay Tuned!

NOTE: New chapters for "Skin Deep" and "Alternative Data" are in the works and should be ready soon. Thanks so much for your interest, for reading my stories, and for your reviews! :D

Reviews Welcome! :)


	6. Chapter 6

Hi Everyone! I hope you're having a great holiday! I've been having a lot of fun: I got to make all the Christmas cookies for my family this year, and I also cooked our special Christmas Eve seven-fishes feast! Holiday cooking and baking is fun because, for me, it's like I get to build all these complex little model kits we then get to eat, and I love building models! Planes, ships, my little robot Lenny... I'm trying to teach my dog to sit when Lenny tells him to and take a treat from Lenny's hand, but Lenny kind of scares him half to death. Poor guy has no idea what to make of him! But, now Lenny's starting to smell more like treats and less like plastic and batteries, I'm sure he'll get over it pretty soon. LOL! :D

Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

* * *

Chapter Six

It had been over a year since Geordi La Forge last shared his sister's company…and that had been for their mother's wake.

The Stardate was 47215.5. Captain Silva La Forge; her ship, the USS _Hera_ ; and her entire crew had been reported missing and presumed killed in action under mysterious circumstances that, to Geordi's intense frustration, were neither satisfactorily defined nor explained.

In the absence of any hard evidence revealing the cause of the _Hera_ 's loss, Geordi had risked his own life and career to prove the reports were wrong, that his mother was alive, and that she and her crew could still be found and rescued. To that end, he had acted against his captain's orders and commandeered experimental Starfleet equipment for his own use, his determination to pursue his theory at any cost compelling Data, his best friend, to risk his own career and lend his assistance in an attempt to keep the engineer from harming himself.

The results had been mixed.

Geordi's dangerous act of defiance had led to the inadvertent discovery, and release, of a somewhat enigmatic alien species, but shed no real light on the _Hera_ 's disappearance, or his mother's fate. Geordi had to endure an official reprimand and a rather serious dressing down from Captain Picard…but, after his experience, he found himself more willing to accept the hard fact that his mother was, most likely, never coming home.

Still, Geordi's father had not been pleased to learn what Geordi had done.

And, neither was Ariana.

"Yet, you say you are not estranged," Data said as they walked past the decoratively pruned lemon tree that accented Ariana's front yard. Her two-story house was compact, cozy, and mostly yellow with blue trim and a wide front porch littered with balls, hover boards, skates, and various other paraphernalia that indicated the presence of two very active children.

"No, we're good," Geordi assured him as he led the way past neat hedges and cheery flower beds, then up the blue-painted stairs to the front door. "Well, pretty much. We worked everything out at the wake."

"How so?" Data asked curiously, tilting his head.

Geordi shrugged.

"My father called me a hothead and gave me a solid lecture about respecting my mother's sacrifice and dedication to the service, then I explained my own feelings, we all sat down to dinner, watched one of Mom's favorite old holovids, and that was that. You know. Family stuff."

"I do not know," Data said, his golden eyes growing a little melancholy. "But, I will take your word for it, Geordi."

Geordi patted his friend's arm, then reached out to ring the doorbell.

The tinkling chime set off a galloping, thundering din somewhere deep inside the house – a din that grew rapidly closer until the front door swung open and a nearly identical pair of shouting eight-year-olds charged the two officers with artificial phasers set to blink.

"Ah, you got me!" Geordi exclaimed, pretending to collapse to his knees while the boys closed in around him with cries of: "Uncle Geordi! Uncle Geordi! Hey, Mom! _MOOOOM!_ Uncle Geordi is here!"

Data stepped back, intrigued to watch the complex interactions as Geordi and his nephews half-hugged, half wrestled their enthusiastic greeting.

"When did you boys get so big!" Geordi exclaimed as they hugged and tussled. "Last time I saw you, I could lift you both in my arms. Now— Hey…! OK, watch the VISOR—!"

"Sly! Teddy! Get off your uncle before you crush him to death! _NOW!_ "

Geordi's sister, Ariana, was a petite, slender woman about half a head shorter than Geordi with smooth, delicate features, large almond eyes, and the sharp, carrying voice of an angry drill sergeant.

The boys scrambled to their feet, phasers at their sides, while Geordi rose more slowly, straightened his badly rumpled uniform, and offered his sister a bashful smile.

"Hey, Ari," he said. "The boys and I were just—"

"You don't have to tell me, Geordi," she said, stern eyes still locked on the wilting twins. "I know roughhousing when I see it."

"Mom!" the boys protested. "We—"

"Save it," she snapped. "Or those phasers go back in the lock box!"

Data raised his eyebrows, not quite sure whether to feel impressed or intimidated.

Ariana stepped forward and wrapped her brother in a quick, warm hug.

"Welcome to Earth, Geordi," she said. "I really am sorry about your ship. And, who's this with you?"

She shot Data a rather suspicious glance.

"I told you about him, Ari," Geordi said, his manner oddly awkward. "This is Lt. Commander Data. He was Second Officer on the _Enterprise_. And, my best friend."

"Ariana La Forge Greene," she said, and offered Data her hand.

He smiled, and took it.

"I am very pleased to finally meet you," he said politely. "You have a beautiful home."

"Well," she said, "we do what we can to make sure it _is_ a home. Which isn't easy in this impersonal, over-teched society."

"Ari…" Geordi drawled warningly, but his sister ignored him.

"So, you're the robot Starfleet made an officer."

Data blinked and stared at Geordi, who buried his face in his hand.

"Oh, God…"

Edward and Silvester stared from their uncle to Data, as curious and suspicious of this strange-looking newcomer as their mother.

Data frowned, just slightly.

"I am an android," he corrected firmly. "And, I attended the academy and earned my rank and position just the same as any biological officer."

"Incredible," Ariana muttered. "They've even got synthetic officers now."

Data's mouth dropped open, but Geordi quickly stepped between his friend and his sister.

"Ari, let's not do this. Not now, OK?" he pleaded. "We came here to try to unwind before court – to enjoy some real, quality time as a family. Just because you and Wendie have been on this anti-tech kick for the past decade or so—"

"You grew up under the same conditions I did, Geordi," Ariana snapped. "You remember those cold, impersonal starships and starbases, all those nights we fell asleep to the sound of the computer's synthesized voice reciting stories to us…! I don't want that for my kids! I want them to live a natural life, a _human_ life, with trees and grass and _real_ food grown and nourished by the earth and sun…"

"I think that is quite admirable," Data said, and Geordi stared at him.

"Data…?"

"I do," Data insisted. "I came to maturity under similarly impersonal conditions, and I can understand the longing for genuine _human_ contact...the warm vitality of a living planet to nourish, and from which to draw nourishment in return."

He turned his golden gaze to Ariana.

"I endured years of social isolation before my assignment to the _Enterprise_. Geordi was the first person who ever treated me as if I were a _real_ , living being. His support helped me find the strength and, perhaps, the courage to explore my own potential. I hope you can understand, now, why his invitation to spend these few days with you and your family held such an appeal for me. But, if my presence here should make you or your husband uncomfortable, there is a hotel in the city that—"

"No…!" Ariana said, staring at Data with a strangely transfixed expression. "No…I wouldn't hear of you going to a hotel." She squinted at him, her high forehead slightly furrowed.

"You really do understand, don't you?"

Data smiled, his white-gold expression as warm as his eyes.

"I daydream often," he told her. "And, when I do, I sometimes imagine a home like this. The scent of the earth and trees, the security of putting down roots, guiding your children as they grow..." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Yes, I do understand."

"Well…" Ariana said, swallowing slightly as she drew back. "You're certainly welcome to share our home with us, Mr. Data. But, what kind of host am I being? Wendie's still at the studio, but I was just getting ready to start making supper – won't you both come in?"

She held open the door and the twins charged through under her arm, already resuming their pitched phaser battle.

Geordi took the door and gestured for her to precede them, turning on Data the moment she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Who _are_ you?" he whispered.

Data knit his brows.

"I am sorry?"

"I mean it Data – first that hot waitress, and now my _sister_? How the hell did you get to be such an expert on handling women?"

"First of all, Geordi," Data said, "I did not 'handle' anyone. I merely listened, and responded accordingly. In addition, I told your sister the truth. We do live the majority of our lives largely cut off from 'nature' – and no," he anticipated the engineer's objection, "the ship's holodeck and arboretum do not count. I have often wished I had spent more time exploring the Earth when I was a cadet, but I was terribly socially inexperienced at the time, and far too focused on making it through to graduation. Now…"

He smiled, and glanced happily around the cluttered, cozy, slightly shabby living room, breathing in the very human atmosphere all around them.

"I value this opportunity to observe a genuine Earth family – their habits, outlooks and values, their ambitions and their dreams. I am grateful that you invited me to share this time with you."

"Hm…" Geordi grunted, eyeing his friend a little suspiciously. "Just don't go _too_ native on me, Data. Some of Ari and Wendie's conservative, anti-tech rhetoric can get pretty nutty. _I_ know a lot of it's a reaction to how we were brought up. Computer programs were our babysitters. Replicators fed and clothed us, advanced technologies allowed me my sight… But, none of it took the place of our parents' attention. I have to admit, I got more than my share, what with my eyes and… Well, Ariana was older. I guess she felt more…"

"Ignored? Left out?"

Geordi shrugged.

"So, now I'm an engineer and she's an anti-tech nut," he said, "married to an anti-tech nut. But, the kids seem pretty normal so far, so…"

Data nodded.

"I believe I am starting to understand, now, why you chose to separate your work life and your family," he said, and smiled. "But, do not worry, Geordi. From what I have seen, humanity seems to exist in a permanent state of counterintuitive cognitive dissonance. Had I not been raised among you, I might suspect you _enjoy_ the utterly maddening inconsistencies you display in your thoughts, attitudes, and actions. Now, as I have never 'cooked' a meal before, I believe I will offer my assistance to your sister in the kitchen. Please, excuse me."

His smile broadened, and he headed in the direction Ariana had gone.

Geordi frowned at Data's departing back.

"What? Was that an insult? What the hell is going on with him?" he muttered, wondering if Data's emotion chip was sparking some new spike of cognitive development, turning his innocent android friend into some manipulative, flirtatious jerk.

" _Phiieew! Phiieew!_ "

"You're dead!"

"No, it was just a stun beam!"

"Don't think that pillow will save you! The Gorn fleet will be here any second!"

"Gorn? I thought it was the Cardassians!"

"It's both! _Whoa_ – ow!"

"Hey – _oof_ – ouch…! Get off!"

The twins' phaser battle seemed to have taken a tumble behind the sofa. Geordi smirked, and rushed to the rescue, holding out his hands to the fallen boys before the screams could begin.

"You kids OK?"

"Hey, Uncle Geordi!" the boys cheered, and dragged him to the front of the sofa, where they pushed, prodded, and arranged him like a cushion until all three were seated in a comfortable clump.

"Did your ship really crash?"

"Are you going to get a new one?"

"Is that really Commander Data?"

"Can you get him to show us his brain?"

Geordi felt too overwhelmed to do much more than laugh and wrap his arms around the boys.

"First thing's first," he said. "And tell your old uncle the truth. Which one of you is Edward, and which is Silvester?"

"He's Teddy," Edward said, pointing to Silvester.

"He's Sly," Silvester said, pointing to Edward.

"And I'm Deanna Troi," Geordi said, wrinkling his nose. "It's the other way around. _You_ ' _re_ Sly, and _you're_ Teddy."

"Yeah? How do you know?" Edward said.

"You haven't come to see us since the Borg attack," Silvester added, "back when we were, like, four!"

Geordi tapped his VISOR.

"I can see everything," he teased. "And, I can always tell when someone is lying."

"Because their heart rate goes up?" Teddy asked.

"Because the temperature in their face rises?" Silvester suggested.

"Because I'm your uncle, and I've known you kids since you were born," Geordi said, and stood up. "Now, come on. Let's go see what your mom and Uncle Data are up to in the kitchen."

" _'Uncle'_ Data?" Silvester repeated.

"How can a _robot_ be our uncle?" Teddy asked.

"Data's not a robot," Geordi told them, a little sharply. "He's a person, OK?"

"A _mechanical_ person," Silvester said.

"Maybe," Geordi said. "But, why should that matter? He's still my best friend."

"You're best friends with a _machine_?" Teddy giggled.

"Daddy said Uncle Geordi fell in love with a holodeck lady once," Silvester said teasingly. "He said it was the saddest thing he ever heard of. But, what can you expect when you're stuck out in space in some tin-can starship?"

"All right, that's enough," Geordi snapped, knowing intellectually that the kids were only repeating what they'd heard and that they probably didn't fully understand, but feeling himself getting riled just the same. "You're both going to come with me to meet Data, and then you'll see how foolish all this talk really is. Drop those toy phasers, and let's go."

Edward and Silvester shared a significant glance then tucked their phasers into their belts, covering them covertly with their shirts before following their irate uncle to the kitchen.

* * *

Tasha Yar stood on the wide, white sidewalk and stared up at the quaint yellow house with the blue trim and wide front porch. She could smell something cooking – _actually_ _cooking_ – something warm and savory and inviting and, for a moment, she almost turned back.

This was a family moment, a family meal – who was she to interrupt their special time together?

"I'm a friend who needs their help," she said, fisting her hands as she strode past the lemon tree and the flower beds and up the porch stairs. "And, if they believe my story, maybe I can find a way to help them back."

Taking a strengthening breath, Tasha raised her finger to the bell…

And pushed.

* * *

Meanwhile, the man who had followed Tasha into the pie shop was just stepping out the sliding doors of a twenty-four hour sonic laundry and replimat service; his goo-and-coffee-stained skin, hair and clothing having been whisked clean and fresh by a 'shower' of tightly focused sonic waves.

Oblivious to the figure crouching low behind a parked speeder, the man strode to the crosswalk, looked both ways, and dashed across the empty street, heading in the direction of the shuttlestation. As he walked he whistled to himself, a cheery little tune from an ad he'd heard on some holovid program. His whistling diverted his attention, and effectively masked the quick, close footsteps click-clacking in time with his own…

The cool kiss of metal against his neck, the sharp hiss of a hypospray…

And only one, long shadow was left to scurry from the scene.

 _To Be Continued..._

* * *

 _References Include - TNG: Interface; Booby Trap; Encounter at Farpoint; Relics; The Next Phase; Best of Both Worlds; Family; The Measure of a Man._

Next time: Data and Geordi's reunion with Tasha Yar. Stay Tuned! :D

Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are always welcome! :)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

At this very moment, Natasha Yar is fifteen years, two months, eighteen days and four hours old – and her life is about to change, forever.

A Starfleet vessel has come to Turkana IV. This ship represents the first contact the failed colony has had with the Federation since the Turkana government fell to civil war and police powers were granted to – some might say 'taken by' – the battling factions.

The city above is nothing now but charred ruin and smoking rubble; in the tunnels below the people live packed together, scrounging and scuffling like frightened rats. There, the leaders of the two largest factions, the Alliance and the Coalition, continue their war over resources and territory in the manner of urban street gangs: terrorizing, assaulting and murdering those who refuse to pay tribute for their 'protection.'

Lured by the bait of a rather well-acted distress call, the Starfleet ship beamed down a five officer away team – which was promptly jumped by fifteen Alliance thugs eager to take their energy weapons.

"This is bad," Tasha says to her younger sister, Ishara, who is busy checking the rabbit traps Tasha had set at the mouth of their swampy old duct the night before. To the girl's dismay, all are, once again, empty.

"Yeah," Ishara mutters. "My stomach hurts."

"Not your stomach, idiot, that firefight out there!"

Tasha stares from the shadowed duct out into the desert-like brightness of the above-ground world, her sharp eyes fixed on the offworld officers: their lithe movements and the bright colors of their uniforms.

The dark-skinned woman is clearly in command. Standing under the sun in her gold and black uniform, she is everything young Tasha has ever wanted to be. Tall and strong, powerful and commanding, she directs the fierce firefight with confidence and competent skill. The male officers beside her don't hesitate to follow her orders. Tasha can see in their faces, each one of them is willing to fight and die for the others.

"We gotta help 'em," Tasha says, a rush of adrenaline making her heartbeat pound in her ears.

"How?" Ishara says, bitterly angry at the prospect of another day of half-rancid tunnel scraps and hunger pains. "The Alliance's got 'em pinned. They're dog meat."

"I have this," Tasha says, digging into her battered old pack and pulling out—

"A 'splosive canster?" Ishara gasps, wide-eyed. "How long have you had that?"

"I've been savin' it," Tasha says, hefting the heavy grenade in her hand. "Damn rape gangs ain't gonna touch us!"

"Keep savin' it, then," Ishara says. "What do you care 'bout a bunch of Starfleet quislins?"

"They ain't either quislins, they're trapped," Tasha protests. "If I help 'em, maybe they can help us."

"We wouldn't need no help if you got us in the cadre," Ishara mutters, and Tasha slaps her. Hard.

"I told you 'bout them cadres!" she snaps. "They're the flesh eaters, 'Shara, worse than lice and maggots! They're the reason our folks got dead!"

"Our folks got dead 'cause they was too quislin' scared to fight!" Ishara snarls. "Everyone knows, only way to _be_ someone on this go to hell planet is to join a cadre. I'm gonna be someone, sis. An' you can be too if you weren't too yella to face the haze tests!"

Tasha glares, her expression growing uncomfortably tight.

"I'm going," she says. "You can help me or you can go to hell. Your choice."

"I ain't gettin' dead for no quislin' offworlders," Ishara snaps. "Go save 'em yourself, you quislin' traitor!"

"Damnit, 'Shara! Don't you understand nothin' important?" Tasha cries. "If them Alliance bums get through, they'll have those officers hostage. They'll get the Feds to send more weapons! Then, the fightin'll only get worse."

"Not if I tell the Coalition what they're schemin'," Ishara says, her eyes dark with icy challenge.

Tasha can only stare, her nostrils flaring with fury.

"You wanna be a Coalition sheep?" she snaps. "You wanna face the hazers?"

"I ain't scared," Ishara states. "Not like you!"

Tasha spits, and holds her explosive close to her chest.

"You wanna see a coward, sis?" she says. "You wanna see a quislin' spy? Look in a puddle on your way to your precious cadre!"

"I can see things," Ishara retorts. "Better than you. Informin' this Alliance trick is a surefire ticket into the Coalition! That means food, Tasha. Real food an' clothes an' respect! If you ain't smart enough to see that—"

"All false," Tasha says. "All lies! Everythin' them stinkin' cadres have, they snatched from us an' our kind, an' they hoard it to keep us scared an' small. I'm smart enough to see _that._ An', to take a real chance when I see it!"

"Stupid," Ishara grunts. "Them Feds ain't gonna take you nowhere, even if they do get away. I'm outta here."

"'Shara, no!" Tasha shouts, but her sister is already making her way back down the slippery duct, and moving fast.

Tasha grits her teeth in frustration, momentarily torn. She slides her foot in the direction Ishara has gone, then turns and lobs the explosive as hard as she can out of the mouth of the duct, scrambling out herself a moment later. The bulb-like canister hurls unnoticed over cracked brick walls and protruding rebar, bouncing several times before coming to rest in the sand, well behind the Alliance fighters.

The ensuing explosion is nothing massive, but it's enough to scatter the gang, giving the three surviving officers time to reach cover…and for Tasha to reach them…

* * *

It is some twenty years later, and Tasha Yar finds herself standing on a different threshold, facing another door...

She has come a long way from the grimy, barely literate urchin the grateful Starfleet away team rescued from the tunnels of Turkana IV. Twelve years of crammed education and Starfleet service have tempered the angry, neglected teen she had been, taught her to look beyond her own needs, encouraged her to become the courageous, caring leader she had admired from afar that fateful morning, so long ago. Tasha Yar had followed that determined girl's dreams of worthwhile achievement to the death, and beyond…

And now, even though she knows she could choose to walk away, to forge a new life, a new identity, the same determination that had pushed her to leave Turkana IV and try her chances offworld now pushes her to reclaim the life she lost, the career she battled so long to achieve…and the Starfleet family she desperately wanted back…

* * *

Lt. Commander Data had attended many dinners over the course of his career. As the flagship of the Federation's Starfleet, the _Enterprise_ had been called upon to host many high-powered diplomatic functions; from meet-and-greets with prospective Federation applicants, to tense negotiations over valued natural resources, to more personal wedding and engagement parties. Data had even attended a few private meals with his friends and coworkers.

This dinner he was sharing at the home of Ariana, Wendie, Teddy, and Sly Greene was different from any other in his experience. The dynamic banter, the comfortable informality of the conversation, the energy and exuberance displayed by the children…

He observed it all and decided that he liked it. He liked it very much.

"Well, this looks good," Wendie said reaching for the salad bowl. He had come home while the dinner was being made but, despite the twins' invitations to pitch in, he and Geordi had opted instead to set the table and wait there for the meal to be served.

"Yeah," Teddy said through his mouthful. "Uncle Data made that!"

Wendie set the bowl back down and frowned at his wife.

"You had the…" He cleared his throat. "…our _guest_ …make the dinner?"

"Only the salad, hun—" Ariana started.

"It was my pleasure," Data said, and smiled. "And, I appreciated the opportunity, I assure you. I have never cooked anything before."

Sly snickered.

"You still haven't," he said. "You don't _cook_ salad!"

"I did season the croutons and toast them in a pan on the stove," Data pointed out. "Surely that qualifies as 'cooking'."

Teddy joined his brother's snickers.

"Look at the cheese," he said. "It's, like, these perfect little cubes!"

Sly held up his salad fork.

"The lettuce is all exactly the same size!"

Data's forehead wrinkled over his nose as he glanced from one twin to the other.

"Did I do it wrong?" he asked, and the boys burst out laughing.

Data turned his utterly befuddled glance to Geordi, who very purposefully scooped more salad onto his plate.

"I think it's great, Data," he said, and took a bite.

"The salad is fine, Mr. Data," Ariana said, shooting a rather cold glare at her husband, who still hadn't touched a leaf. "We just generally tend to do things a little more…homestyle…around here."

Data nodded, his forehead still wrinkled.

"I believe I understand…" he said, taking a bite from his own bowl and tilting his head while he analyzed it.

"It's cool," Teddy said. "I like how thin you made the carrots."

"And the croutons really crunch!" Sly pointed out, providing an enthusiastic, open-mouthed demonstration.

"Sly!" Wendie admonished sharply, and the boys giggled.

Data smiled, just slightly.

"Thank you both," he said. "Perhaps I—"

A chime sounded near the front of the house, and Sly and Teddy jumped to their feet.

"Doorbell!" they chorused. "I'll get it!"

"Sit back down and hold your horses," Ariana ordered, pushing back her own chair. "You boys don't get to tackle _every_ person who comes to this house."

"Horses…?" Data queried quietly, turning his puzzled eyes to Geordi as Ariana left the room.

"It just means 'hold still,'" Geordi said, just as quietly, as they all listened to hear what Ariana was saying to whoever was at the door.

"Yes, Geordi La Forge is here," came her faint voice. "I'm his sister, Ariana Greene."

"Well, could I speak to him, please?" the newcomer said, and Data's eyes widened dramatically.

"Geordi—" he started, but Ariana was already coming back the dining room, looking a little irritable.

"Geordi," she said, "there's a blonde woman at the door, says she knows you. I could tell her to come back after dinner—"

"No, no, I'll go," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin, then getting up. "You too, Data. Time to get to the bottom of this."

"But, Geordi, that voice…" Data said, following after his friend. "The acoustics match—"

"It's not her, OK!" the engineer exclaimed. "It can't be."

"Can't be who?" Teddy asked curiously.

"Never mind," Geordi grunted, and headed for the living room. "Come on, Data, you'll see. There's no way this woman could be—"

"…Tasha…"

Geordi had never heard his friend's voice sound like that before, or seen such awe shining on his face. The woman at the door wore a similar expression, her eyes locked so firmly on the android that Geordi caught himself wondering if he'd suddenly become invisible.

"Hello, Data…" the woman said, her lips stuttering into an awkward smile. "Guess it's been a while…"

"It has been seven years," the android managed to whisper, shuffling toward her like a zombie. "Seven months, three weeks, six days…"

"What, no hours?" she teased, and the two were suddenly in each other's arms, burning tears they couldn't hold back trailing down their faces.

"Tasha…" he whispered into her short-cropped hair. "Tasha, Tasha… How can this be possible? Everything about you is the same. Your face, your form, the scent of your skin…"

He frowned, and pulled back just slightly, his golden eyes regarding her rather more closely than she liked.

"Actually, your scent is not quite the same," he said. "There is something different…a faint, peculiar sweetness, almost like…"

He sniffed deeply, his frown growing deeper.

"…decay…?"

Geordi shivered despite himself.

"This is impossible," he snapped, pushing his way between them. "What's is it Holmes said, Data: 'It is a capital mistake to theorize in advance of the facts'?"

"That is correct, Geordi," Data said.

"Well, it's time for some facts," the engineer said, turning his VISORed glare on the newcomer. "Just who the hell are you, and why have you been following us?"

The woman stared at him as if he'd just sprouted a second head.

"What do you mean, Geordi?" she asked.

Geordi crossed his arms.

"You're going to tell me you weren't at the JAG offices this morning?"

"I was there," the woman said. "That's how I found out about the _Enterprise_ , and the court martial. Geordi, Data, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have been there when—"

"Look, just stop it, OK?" Geordi said. "I'm not buying this. Tasha Yar is dead. Data, you were there – you know this better than anyone!"

"I was dead!" Tasha exclaimed. "I can't really explain what happened, or why, but if you want the whole story—"

"Is everything OK out there?" Ariana asked, peering at the trio from the kitchen doorway.

"We're fine, Ari," Geordi said grimly. "You guys should just go on eating without us, OK?"

Ariana frowned, but left them alone.

Geordi raised an arm to herd Data and the newcomer out the door.

"Come on," he said, "let's take this out on the porch."

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

 _References Include – TNG: Liasons; Dark Page; Menage a Troi; The Price; Force of Nature; Data's Day; Haven; Manhunt; In Theory; Time Squared; Legacy; Skin of Evil; Where No One Has Gone Before; Encounter at Farpoint; The Return of Sherlock Holmes: The Second Stain; Pushing Daisies: Smell of Success.  
_

 _Thanks so very much for your reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :D_


	8. Chapter 8

_Note: Much of this chapter was drawn from a deleted scene that never made it into my previous story "Trust."  
_

* * *

Chapter Eight

The evening sky was still light; the cool, Earth breeze scented by the lemon tree, the sun-warmed lawn, and the nearby flower beds.

Tasha sat on the porch swing while Geordi paced in front of her, gesticulating his arms as he fought to wrap his brain around her story. Data sat in the weathered deck chair, his golden gaze apparently fixed and attentive. But, only some fifteen percent of Data's conscious attention was actually focused on Geordi's questions and the answers Tasha offered. The rest was tied up in a tangled whirl of emotion and memory…memories first experienced in a cool, analytical light that now triggered a host of feelings so raw and deep the android barely knew how to process them…

* * *

The dim lighting in Tasha's bedroom lent the walls and ceiling above a warm, golden glow that could fairly be described as 'cozy'.

Data lay back against the pillow and stared blankly upward, thoroughly preoccupied by what was going on…inside...

Never before had the android been so…aware…of his body. His eyes, his skin, his lips and his fingertips, the toes at the ends of his feet… The gradually slowing pulse of his nutritive fluids as they surged through his sub-dermal tubing…

They were all _him_ , all a part of his integrated, integral being in a way he had never previously contemplated. Since his initial activation, his _mind_ had always held the limelight, while his android frame played, quite literally, a supporting role – providing strong, durable transport for his positronic brain.

Now…

It was as if a switch had been flicked, turning all that he had taken for granted about himself, his nature and his purpose inside out. Somehow, his senses had usurped priority over his rational thoughts, bringing new significance and intensity to the spicy scent of the candles by Tasha's bedside, the silky smoothness of the sheets…the sight of the woman lying beside him on the bed…her soft, contented sighs…

No, not 'somehow.' There was a reason the positronic supercomputer that served as his brain seemed wrapped in a hazy fog, why he felt as if his processing speed had slowed to a strange, surreal crawl. Data would have thought it impossible, but even in his current, oddly addled state he knew it was the only logical answer.

He blinked twice, and turned to face his smiling friend.

"I am not immune," he told her.

"Hmm?" Tasha sighed, and stretched like a languid cat. "What's that, Data?"

"The intoxicant currently spreading throughout the ship," Data explained. "The captain assumed that I would be immune. It is why he sent me to escort you to sickbay. An android. A machine. But I am not. Not immune…"

He stared at her, his golden eyes wide.

"How can this be?"

"Maybe it's because you're _not_ just a machine," she said and rolled closer, her expression wickedly playful as she reached out to touch his cheek. "You're more than that. Much more…"

"But…how can I have contracted this?" he said. "I am constructed of synthetic materials."

"You have skin. And pores. And veins under your skin," she said, her eyes following her fingers as they traced a slow path along his temples, the side of his nose, over his pale lips. "Just like me." She smiled. "And, you've said you have some organic components."

"True…" He spoke softly, not wishing to cause her to stop what she was doing. "There are many ways in which we are more alike than unlike. Perhaps, more than I realized…"

Data appreciated the sensation of her warm hand trailing down to rest on his shoulder. He placed his hand over hers, their fingers intertwining with a comfortable intimacy he found most satisfactory. And, yet…

"I feel inefficient," he admitted, "as though my thoughts have been subjected to a strong dampening field. Everything seems so much slower than I am used to—"

She moved, propping herself up on her elbow and – for just that brief instant – time for Data seemed to stop. He swallowed and blinked, suddenly understanding the peculiar phrase 'his words caught in his throat'.

Tasha's wicked smile broadened.

"What?" she asked him.

"You are beautiful," he answered. "The most aesthetically striking sight I have ever seen."

"Compliments from a handsome man," she said drowsily, resting her head back on her pillow. "My handsome man…"

"Me?"

His eyes opened wide, and a slight, delicate smile pulled at his lips.

"Thank you," he said. "I never…"

But Tasha's eyes were closed and her breathing had slowed. Data brushed his own fingers over her flushed forehead, her slicked-back hairstyle that seemed almost an imitation of his own, and he realized she had fallen asleep.

He sat up, then rose unsteadily to his feet. His equilibrium was severely off kilter, his diagnostic programs prodded him with error messages… But this off-balance sensation was far from unpleasant. In fact, he thought it rather suited the striking implausibility of his current circumstance…the thoroughly unanticipated events that had brought him to this place in time, looking down at a woman who saw _him_ as…

 _"…My handsome man…"_ she'd said, her words reverberating around and around his muzzy brain. _"…you're_ not _just a machine. You're more than that. Much more…"_

"You trust me," he said, swaying slightly as he reached for his uniform. "The captain also trusts me. He trusts me to take you to sickbay. I wish to be trustworthy. A trustworthy person."

He dressed as quickly as he could, then helped the sleepy Tasha into her own uniform. When she refused to wake sufficiently to walk on her own, Data lifted her into his arms.

Tasha sighed and snugged her face against his shoulder, her arms rising to wrap around his neck as he carried her through the corridors and lifts to sickbay. Careful not to jostle her, he placed her on the biobed the nurse indicated, stepping back just enough to marvel again at her beauty…and his newfound ability to appreciate it. To appreciate _her…_ Her willful spirit. The way she constantly worked to stretch herself beyond any perceived limitations.

The way she inspired him to do the same…

Data leaned dizzily against the edge of the bed, tracing his left hand gently over her features as she had traced his only minutes before.

"My man…" she murmured sleepily. "…so strong…"

"Yes, Tasha," he said, and rested his hand over hers. "I will always be your man."

His duty to the captain fulfilled and Tasha in safe hands, Data left a swift, soft kiss on her lips, then straightened and walked out of sickbay with a wobbly gait, babbling blithely to himself as he headed for the turbolift.

"I am a man. A person. A man person. Male. Male person. A male man."

"Did he just say he's a mailman?" an intoxicated crewman said to his friend, and the pair of them laughed drunkenly.

But, Data's mind was fixated on Tasha…on what they'd shared, and how he'd changed in so surprisingly short a time. He wondered if it showed…if the captain would notice a difference in his android officer. No longer a mere machine, but a fully functional man.

The 'lift doors opened and the intoxicated android staggered inside and leaned against the wall, certain that he finally understood what it felt like to be alive…

* * *

Data's expression hardened, and he turned his golden eyes on Tasha, his glare as cold as stone.

"What do you want from us?" he demanded, and she and Geordi gave a little jump, as if they'd forgotten the android was sitting there.

"I thought I explained," Tasha said, clearly confused by his hostile posture. "I wanted to help—"

"Help how?" he snapped, rising to his feet and pacing across the wooden boards. "If your story is to believed, you have been dead for nearly eight years! What kind of help could you possibly offer after all this time?"

Tasha's pale face reddened, and even Geordi seemed taken aback.

"I..." she stammered. "I thought..."

"I doubt you thought much about us at all," Data snarled. "Only what would best suit you. Well, get this straight. I am no longer some innocent toy to be played with then discarded at your convenience. I am a living, feeling being and I expect to be treated as such."

"Whoa, Data," Geordi said, staring at his livid friend. "Where is all this coming from?"

" _She_ knows," Data said, suddenly needing to swallow as his voice grew rough. "If she really is Tasha Yar... She knows."

Tasha's eyes widened, and she quickly looked away.

"Data," she said. "I never meant—"

"I do not particularly care what you meant," the android snapped.

"It didn't _mean_ anything!" she yelled, and jumped to her feet. "For God's sake, Data - I was intoxicated! We both were!"

"Have you forgotten, Tasha?" Data retorted coldly. "You infected me."

"And it was a mistake, OK? I admit it! It never would have happened if not for that damned virus!"

Data regarded her, moving closer until they stood only inches apart.

"Then, you are telling me that you felt nothing?" he said. "That the time we shared together truly held no meaning for you?"

"It was a _mistake_ ," she emphasized, her icy blue glare a match for his. "A stupid, one-time thing! I'm sorry!"

He nodded once, his pale jaw set.

"Then, you were right," he said grimly. "It never happened after all."

He turned and strode down the porch steps, walking swiftly through the yard toward the sidewalk and the street beyond.

Geordi looked from him to Tasha and back, yelling, "Hey, where are you going? What the hell just happened here?"

" _Damnit!_ " Tasha cried, and punched the side of the house. "It wasn't supposed to _be_ like this! He wasn't supposed to..."

"Supposed to what, Tasha?" Geordi demanded. "What was he talking about just then?"

Tasha stared at him.

"You mean, Data never told you?"

"Told me what?"

Tasha winced, and ran her hands over her burning face.

"It's nothing. It's not important," she muttered.

"Then why did he run off like that?" Geordi snapped. "Even with that damned chip, it's not like Data to react so strongly over nothing."

Tasha fiercely shook her head.

"I can't tell you," she said. "I know how close you two are, and I... I just can't—"

She dodged around him and ran up the path after Data.

Geordi clenched his fists angrily and followed, his mind filled with dark suspicions he didn't really want to be true.

Because, if they were, it meant Data, his best friend, had essentially been lying to him for all the years they'd known each other.

After all, Tasha had known how he'd felt about her, and so had Data. The thought that the two of them had... Behind his back... And, they'd never said a word...!

Tasha had caught up with Data by the gate but Geordi could see, despite the dimming twilight, the two of them were not alone. There was a third person out on the sidewalk, a young woman he recognized as the waitress from the Pie Hole: Dilly Gherkin. And, judging from the heat signature she was giving off, she was in an even more agitated state than the three of them.

"What's this now?" Geordi said irritably. "What is she doing here?"

"Geordi," Data called, gesturing for him to join them. "Dilly says there has been a murder in town."

"That's right," Dilly said, gasping and hiccuping through her hysterical tears. "They found him outside and... He's dead. He's dead! And the police are blaming me!"

 _To Be Continued..._

* * *

 _References include - TNG: The Naked Now; Hide and Q._

Until next time, thanks so much for your nudges, and for your reviews! Your feedback is always appreciated!

Please let me know what you think! :)


	9. Chapter 9

I'm terribly sorry about the terribly long stretch between updates, but here's a brand new chapter! I hope you enjoy it! :D

* * *

Chapter Nine

It is 6:46 PM local planetary time in the sleepy San Francisco suburb of Walnut Creek.

Only, this evening, it is not so sleepy.

This evening, its habitually bucolic streets are wide awake to the wail of sirens and the colored flashes of emergency lights, all congregated around the Pie Hole from which Dilly Gherkin had run, and to which she had returned to pledge her non culpability - this time in the company of one former and two current Starfleet officers.

"Murder," Geordi said again, his frown a deep, solemn crease as he, Data and Tasha stood among the crowd gathered to gawp at the titillatingly macabre spectacle playing out before their homes and windows. "Here, on Earth, in this day and age… It's hard to believe this is real."

"Please, please, please, you've got to prove I'm innocent!" Dilly called to them as a stern detective worked to push her into a police shuttle. "I didn't do this! I wouldn't kill anyone, and especially not Tilly Tillingham! I swear it!"

The facts were these:

Three years, four weeks, and ten days before his death, Dilly Gherkin and Timothy 'Tilly' Tillingham met at the historic Santa Anita Race Track located in Arcadia, California. He was there investigating the suspect finances of a wealthy Ferengi investor and his human business partner - a compulsive gambler with a taste for exotic and expensive cuisine. She was riding the headlining favorite in the third race - a Vulcan-bred Arabian named Sucrose Intoxication.

Possessed of an obsessive personality and an intensely narrow focus that had served him well in his career, the smitten finance lawyer soon became the young jockey's biggest, and most demonstrative, fan. They had remained close, Dilly and Tilly, her dependence on his adoring support only increasing after the accident that had forced Dilly into early retirement.

An accident she had long blamed on him...

"Don't know what she expects us to do," Tasha muttered, the look of concerned compassion on Data's pale face irritating the once dead, now mysteriously alive-again security expert like a burr pressing into her neck. "This is a police matter. We're not the police."

"That does not mean we cannot conduct an independent investigation of our own," Data said, his golden eyes fixed on the desperate young woman as the wailing, flashing shuttle lifted her into the air and away. "I believe we should help her."

"Yeah?" Tasha straightened. "Well, I believe she did it. You didn't see the mess she and that man made of that restaurant. There were enough angry sparks there to light up a city block!"

"Emotion, no matter how strong, cannot provide power to urban infrastructure," Data pointed out. "But, it can provide motivation to injure, or to benefit another person. Dilly came to us. She came to me. And I, for one, am willing to give her the benefit of the doubt I feel regarding her role in this tragic event."

He turned toward Geordi and Tasha, his gaze still skirting any direct contact with her increasingly irritated face.

"Your assistance in this matter would be appreciated," he said. "But it is not mandatory. If you do not wish to participate, I am quite capable of conducting this investigation on my own."

"Well, I'm with you," Geordi said. "Whether Dilly did it or not, I don't like the idea of a killer roaming around my sister's neighborhood. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better. Besides, I'd rather keep myself busy than sit around here waiting for the ax to fall, as it were."

Data tilted his head.

"By 'ax', you are referring to the summons from Captain Bryce to prepare our testimony for the tribunal?"

"Yeah, that," Geordi said uncomfortably. "So Tasha, you in?"

Tasha stared intently at Data's face, willing him to look at her, if it was only a flicker of a glance…

"Tasha?" Geordi prompted again.

She sighed, breaking her stare to give Geordi an acknowledging nod.

"Fine," she said. "I'll help out. If only to prove to you both that woman is trouble. Even if she isn't a killer…"

"Excellent," Data said, scanning his eyes over the crowd to rest on the apron-clad pie-maker, talking to police with his shoulders hunched and his flour-dusted hands sunk in his pockets. "Then, let us begin with some interviews. Dilly's employer may know—"

"Hold on," Tasha said. "Before we go blundering into the fray out there, let's take a minute to consider our best approach. Remember, this isn't a Starfleet investigation. We have no official standing. In fact, those cops out there will probably see any efforts on our part as interference. So, I recommend we take the subtle approach. Give everyone the night to settle down then come back in the morning, once the rush of adrenaline has passed and our potential witnesses may be thinking more clearly."

Geordi quirked his eyebrows over his VISOR.

"Makes sense to me," he said. "Besides, I'm hungry. Do you think Ari saved our plates from dinner?"

Data was not pleased by the prospect of waiting an entire night before diving into the investigation that might prove the innocence of the intriguing young waitress who had been so kind to him. But, he had to acknowledge the logic of Tasha's argument. It would not do to be charged with impeding an official police inquiry, especially when he and Geordi faced a trial of their own in only a few days.

A trial both officers feared could be potentially catastrophic to their future careers.

"Very well," the android said at last. "Tomorrow, my friends. This game is afoot!"

Tasha winced at his departing back, the confident stride he'd just assumed...

"Oh god..." she said. "That wasn't..."

"Sherlock Holmes?" Geordi finished, and chuckled. "Yep. I'd say tomorrow's shaping up to be pretty interesting..."

Neither of them saw the dark figure standing in the shadows cast by the emergency lights as they followed Data back toward the house.

But the figure saw them...its eyes settled firmly on the lively security officer who should not have been living...

 _To Be Continued..._

* * *

 _References Include - TNG: Lonely Among Us; Elementary Dear Data; Ship in a Bottle; the Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home novelization; Pushing Daisies: Girth.  
_

 _Thanks for reading, and sorry again for taking so long with this. Your reviews are always welcome! :D_


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